


sand underneath my skin

by gracedbybattle



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Blind Kanan Jarrus, Episode Tag, Episode: s03e20 Twin Suns, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Master & Padawan Relationship(s), Parental Kanan Jarrus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24610564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracedbybattle/pseuds/gracedbybattle
Summary: Ezra returns home from Tatooine with a newfound hatred of the desert and a deeper appreciation of family. Post Twin Suns.Purely indulgent h/c.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Kanan Jarrus
Comments: 18
Kudos: 154





	sand underneath my skin

The feel of sand caught under his suit is grating. A thousand tiny, irritating granules scratching against his skin. Everything feels drier, the air, his skin, eyes, mouth. Ezra wants a shower desperately, to just be clean. He wonders how long he can just stand under the spray of water and let the dust and grime wash off. 

“Finally,” he mutters, watching the surface of Atollon coming up to meet them. He’s never been happier to see the base.

Chopper warbles from the back and he sighs. “Yeah Chop, I think we can get you an oil bath.” He’s relieved that Chopper is okay, after their ordeal in the desert. Hera is going to have his hide for stealing a ship and leaving in the first place. If he had come back without her astromech? 

Well. Even Kanan probably couldn’t have protected him. 

He reaches out for the landing switch and another hidden clump of sand falls out of the upturned corner of his sleeve and dumps into the floor. “How much of this stuff is there?” he mutters. He never wants to see sand again. 

The ship sets down easily enough, settling onto the landing pad with a resounding  _ thump _ . He disengages the landing gear before standing. He can see Hera, Kanan and Zeb just beyond the ship, clearly waiting for him through the view port. There’s a twist in his gut at the sight of them. Part of it is profound relief to see them again, the other is an undercurrent of dread for the trouble he’s going to be in. 

He hesitates for a single second, before stumbling out of the cockpit and down the ramp, Chopper following. There’s no avoiding the grounding or the lecture, but after the past few days he’s so happy to be home that he couldn’t care less. 

Already, the proximity to Kanan is soothing his tumultuous anxiety. Their Force bond is alive, lighting up with the decreased distance between them. On Tatooine, he had sorely missed the steadiness of Kanan beside him and his master’s soothing presence in his head. But there was no way he was letting Maul get close to Kanan again. He’d had three shots at Kanan and nearly killed him each time. A fourth chance was not an option. 

Ezra nearly falls down the ramp, the unfamiliar steep incline too difficult to navigate on top of the sheer exhaustion that he feels. He feels his feet slip from underneath him and catches himself before he falls, but he knows his family sees. He straightens and walks off a little steadier. Zeb meets him off the base of the ramp, Hera and Kanan following behind. 

“Tell me this means what I think it means?” he quips, an underlying thread of hope in his gruff voice. Once, a younger Ezra would have taken his comment as a veiled accusation, a condemnation. Now, he only sees concern. 

“We won’t be seeing Maul again,” Ezra confirms, the weight of the words washing over him as they’re spoken aloud. God, but he feels exhausted.  _ It’s over _ .  _ He’s gone. He can’t hurt us anymore.  _

“Well?” Hera asks, leaving the question out to dangle. Kanan is silent at her side, but his mind brushes against Ezra’s own, inquisitive. 

“I’m sorry I ran off like that. I was wrong,” he starts. “This is where I’m supposed to be.” He sets a hand on Hera’s shoulder because he feels like he might face plant. Hera’s eyes are a touch wide, taken aback but they melt into a soft smile. Clearly, she’d been expecting a different reaction. Possibly a defense for his actions. 

He can feel rather than hear the slight uptick on Kanan’s mouth, the beginnings of a smirk on his master’s face. There’s a sentiment floating through their connection, something a bit softer than a ‘ _ he can be taught’ _ and that feels more like parental pride. 

“You’re my family,” he says, trying not to choke around the words. His throat is so dry, voice threatening to crack. He thinks longingly of the  _ Ghost _ , it’s familiarity and comforting walls. The way their voices reverberate through the hold, the sound of the people he loves around him.  _ They’re safe. He can’t hurt them anymore. _ “And we should go home.”

Kanan and Zeb both reach to touch him, a hand on his shoulder and back respectively, and he breathes for a moment, grounded by feeling and the comfort of his family around him. The adrenaline is fading fast, crashing into something that might take his legs out from underneath him. As though he can tell without being told, Kanan opens his arms in a silent invitation. Ezra doesn’t hesitate. He falls into his mentor’s arms, collapsing against his solid chest. 

Curling his arms around Kanan’s side, he buries his face into the older Jedi’s shoulder and just holds on. Kanan doesn’t say a word, but opens the bond between them, flooding it with a soft affection and relief at having his padawan in his arms, safe and sound.

With the bond this open, Ezra can feel the flood of emotions between them. Worry, fear, exhaustion, frustration, relief, grief. Some of them overlap, to the point where he can’t tell if they’re coming from him or from Kanan. He buries his head in Kanan’s shoulder and just breathes. A hand comes up to rest on his back, smaller and gentle. Hera. 

“Ezra,” she says, voice too kind to be speaking to someone who stole an A-wing they couldn’t afford to lose. “What happened?” 

He breathes deep, dragging his nose across Kanan’s chest and not caring who sees. Maul is still lurking at the corner of his mind, a shadow memory streaked in red and black. The yellow of his eyes glow, turning to stare deep into Ezra’s soul. A siren song,  _ come with me apprentice _ whispering in his mind. 

“He’s gone,” he repeats in a single breath, not letting his grip on Kanan’s shirt lessen. The connection in his mind, the thread that tied him to the Zabrak, is gone. It’s a blank spot, cauterized over and empty. It’s how he knows Maul is truly dead. He’d felt it snap while he and Chopper were on the dewback, riding across the desert. He’d nearly wept with relief in the moment. 

Kanan raises a hand to brush over his short, bristly hair. It’s a comforting gesture, one he already used to do a lot when Ezra’s hair was longer. He had a tendency to comb through the shaggy bangs, pushing them back against his forehead and teasing that he needed to get a good pair of scissors. 

“Are you sure?” Hera persists, the hand on his back unwavering. He can almost feel Zeb behind her, radiating concern at his back. 

He doesn’t trust himself to respond, just nods. Kanan exhales against him, relief rolling through him like a wave that Ezra can feel. He hadn’t realized how tightly tense Kanan had been before. Like he was waiting for the right words to let his guard down. 

“It’s over,” Ezra says, more to Kanan than Hera and Zeb, repeating Kanan’s words from so long ago, that awful day when they were leaving Malachor. He can remember the burn in his chest at the knowledge that Ahsoka was gone, that Maul had betrayed them, that Kanan was never going to be the same, the Sith holocron sitting heavy in his hand. 

“Hey,” Kanan whispers, distracting him from the memory. Ezra drags his gaze up to face his mentor, wishing he could see teal-blue eyes instead of emotionlessness of the mask. His master pulls an arm from where he’d holding Ezra snug to his front and cups against his chin, tracing the jawline. 

No matter how much the Force helps, Kanan is still blind. He still has to search to find Ezra’s shoulder, his clothes off the floor, the spices in the galley cabinet. He knocks against things when he’s not paying attention. He still has a tendency to hit Ezra’s chin when he’s reaching for the top of his head because he still thinks Ezra’s the same height he was a year ago. 

He runs down to the point of Ezra’s chin, strong fingers steepling the jaw to tilt up. “You okay?” 

Ezra swallows. “I’m fine,” he says even though he doesn’t believe it. He can tell Kanan doesn’t believe it either. There’s a furrow on his brow, distinguishable even with the mask on. It’s the look he gets when he’s worried. With the bond open between them, it’s hard to hide what either of them are thinking. 

“We can discuss details later,” Hera says and Ezra can’t believe she’s giving him this out. “After you’ve gotten some rest.” She pats a hand against his shoulder. “We’re just glad you’re okay right now.” 

“Gave us a scare, kid,” Zeb says. 

He starts to say something in response, but his knees pick that moment to decide that they have had enough and buckle. Kanan’s reflexes are sharp, snatching him around the waist before he can hit the ground. “Easy,” he says, slipping an arm around his middle to hold him up. 

“Go get cleaned up and get some rest,” Hera says as soon as she seems sure he isn’t going to face plant. She gives Kanan a knowing look, something passing between them unsaid. She turns from the pair of them, setting a hand on Chopper’s dome and nodding at Zeb. 

“Let’s get you an oil bath. Zeb, I could use a hand.” Zeb nods and follows her silently, pausing only to thump Chopper on his dome. The droid warbles enthusiastically, wheeling after the two of them a little slower than usual. The grit and sand must be impeding his circuits. 

“Come on,” Kanan says gently, slipping an arm around his shoulder to support him, starting their slow trek to the  _ Ghost _ . “Let’s get you taken care of.” He nods, hanging onto Kanan like a lifeline. The adrenaline has completely burned away, leaving him feeling weak and dead on his feet. 

He wants a drink of water so bad he can hardly stand it.

Somehow, he makes it to the refresher with Kanan without falling. Kanan lets him go and he leans against the wall, the cool steel a stark contrast to his hot skin. His master starts the water cycle without being told, adjusting the temperature and setting out a towel while Ezra works to peel out of his boots. 

There’s a redness spreading against his skin that tells him there will be some lingering physical effects of his visit to the desert planet. Grimacing as he pulls the outer layer of his jumper over his head, his neck is noticeably red and hot to the touch. 

Kanan, whether from the noise he makes as he pulls the fabric off or the discomfort that reverberates from the bond, drops what he’s doing and comes over to inspect, frowning. He trails a hand feather light against Ezra’s chest, wincing at the heat he can feel radiating off the boy’s skin. 

“That’s a pretty nasty burn,” he says, careful not to touch and cause even more pain. Ezra shrugs before remembering he can’t see that. He still forgets, sometimes. 

“It’s pretty red,” he concedes, trying not to think about the hours he spent out in the relentless heat and sun with no escape. 

Kanan hums, thinking it over. “Anything else I should know about?” It’s not prying, just genuine concern. “Do you need to go to the medbay?”

“No,” Ezra responds quickly. “I’m okay. It’s not that bad.”

His master frowns, clearly not convinced, but willing to let it slide. “I’ll get you something for it. Are you okay in here by yourself?” He lingers, willing to stay if Ezra asks. But he’s not an invalid. He can handle a shower on his own. 

“I’m good,” Ezra says, pushing confidence into his voice to believe it. If he can just get clean, he’ll feel more like himself. Kanan sets a hand against his shoulder, squeezing once before pulling away. “I’ll be back when you’re done,” he says before leaving, the door swishing shut behind him. 

Ezra divests himself of the rest of his garments quickly, stepping under the shower head with a quiet hiss. The warmth of the water is a little too intense for his abused skin. The pain is making itself known, throbbing with an insistence that he’s having trouble ignoring. He cleans up as quickly as he can, scrubbing the dust and sand from everywhere he can find and rinsing the grime from his hair. 

Stepping out, he finds a soft set of sleep garments waiting for him, no doubt left by Kanan. Pulling them on is almost a struggle, the warmth from the water had liquefied his muscles along with everything else. If it were possible, he could just melt into a puddle on the floor. 

He steps out of the refresher into the hallway, starting from the door to his bunk before Kanan turns the corner. There’s a bag thrown over his shoulder, bulging with something. “Hey kid,” he says with a tilt of his head, one hand against the side of the  _ Ghost _ . “You all done?” 

Ezra nods and then kicks himself. "Yeah,” he says softly, hoping his voice doesn’t break and not feeling strong at all. “I’m done.”

“Got something for your chest,” Kanan says with a tip at the bag, striding into the hallway and away from Ezra and Zeb’s cabin. Ezra hesitates, looking at the door and then back to his mentor, torn. He desperately wants to sleep, wants it more than anything, but he knows Kanan won’t be satisfied until he’s looked him over. And if he’s honest, the heat from his chest is starting to become unbearable. 

As though he can sense his trepidation and fragile nature, Kanan steps back to him, pulling him against his side into a half hug. “You’re okay, kiddo,” he says softly, letting the words bled into a feeling of love, pushing it through his mind to Ezra’s own. “No matter what happened out there, you’re safe. You’re here with us.”

Ezra lets himself melt into the comforting embrace for a moment. It’s almost unbelievable that Kanan, Hera especially, haven’t asked for any details beyond whether Maul was gone. They just seem worried if he’s okay, and their care is almost enough to break down the pieces of him left. 

Kanan’s words are exactly the ones he needs to hear. No matter how many times he’s reassured of his place in this family, there’s a difference in hearing it said out loud. Kanan and Hera have never been shy about affection and they give out touch like it’s nothing, tousling hair and squeezing shoulders. 

Now, Kanan strokes a hand against his back, steady and strong. He sounds like he chooses his next words carefully. “Why don’t you sleep in my bunk tonight? It’ll be quieter than with Zeb. We can turn the temperature down, keep you cool.” Ezra can’t think of anything to say to that, so he just nods. The thought of physically climbing into his top bunk seems monumental right now.

He lets Kanan steer him into his quarters. It’s blessedly quiet and cool, the air whistling through the top vent as a drone of white noise. Kanan’s room carries a calming presence that he can’t put into words and he feels at peace here. It’s as though the Force resonates in these walls, called to the holocron in the drawer and Kanan’s own signature. His master takes his mask off, setting it against the side table.

Ezra climbs gingerly onto the bed as Kanan searches through his bag. He pulls out a water pouch and hands it to Ezra, motioning for him to sit up. Ezra takes it eagerly, the cool water a blessing against his parched throat. “You’re pretty dehydrated,” Kanan notes. “I’d like to put you on a drip, but we’ll start with this.”

Ezra stops inhaling water to pull a face. “I don’t need a drip.”

“I’m sure you think you don’t,” Kanan says dryly, riffling through his bag to produce a small container. He twists the top off with a soft  _ pop _ . Ezra wrinkles his nose at the smell, sharp and almost overwhelming at first. His shields must be down because Kanan snorts as soon as the thought crosses his mind. 

“It’ll help take the sting out of your burn,” he says, globing a handful. Ezra leans, or collapses more accurately, against the pillows, letting his muscles melt in the bedding. Kanan sits on the edge of the bunk, giving Ezra a second to situate himself before spreading the clear gel over his exposed neck and chest. 

Ezra takes in a sharp breath at the initial sharp sting of the gel and Kanan mutters an apology. It sinks into his skin, burning with contact for a second before soothing into a pleasant numbness. He relaxes as Kanan spreads it against his reddened skin, fingers meticulous and gentle. 

“I was worried,” Kanan admits, keeping a steady spread and Ezra looks up in surprise. “I never wanted you to face that monster on your own.”

“He didn’t do anything to me,” Ezra assures him, quick to put Kanan’s mind at ease. He grins. “Besides, I wasn’t alone. I had Chopper with me.”

A smile tugs at the edge of Kanan’s mouth, one eyebrow quirking up over his white eyes. “That does not make me feel any better,” he deadpans, voice as dry as the desert. He finishes coating Ezra’s burns, wiping his hands on a small towel and stashing the jar back in the satchel. He takes the empty water pouch from Ezra, putting it away. “You hungry?”

Ezra shakes his head. “No, just tired.”

Kanan frowns. He looks like he wants to push the issue. “You probably need to eat soon. Just to put something on your stomach,” but Ezra shakes his head again. 

“I really just want to sleep. I’ll eat later, I promise.”

Kanan clearly isn’t happy but relents. “Okay. Get some rest.” He stands to leave and suddenly, the thought of being left alone sends a rush of cold fear so stark through Ezra’s chest that it nearly leaves him breathless. He forgets a second too late that he’s still unshielded and Kanan freezes midstride. 

“Ezra?” he asks in a gentler tone, immediately returning to the edge of the bunk and bringing up a hand to rest against Ezra’s arm. Since being blinded, Kanan has become even more tactile than before. He uses touch to ground him in his sightless world, an anchor to the thing he can no longer see. “Are you okay?”

Ezra swallows tightly, the ball in his chest lessening at just having Kanan close enough to touch. The past few days were awful, the constant fear of Maul lurking around every corner, the certainty of facing him alone, the fevered need to protect the base and his family.

He didn’t realize how lonely he felt until now. 

A sharp intake of breath tells him that Kanan feels the emotions he’s projected, like he can hear his thoughts. “Ezra,” he says softly, the timber of his voice impossibly kind and Ezra stubbornly blinks back tears, determined not to cry now. 

“I’m here,” Kanan says gently, settling himself to sit on the bunk at Ezra’s side. The tender affection in his voice is almost too much to bear. “I’ll stay,” he says, pulling the boy against his side. Ezra gives up any pretense of stoicism, folding into his master’s side and curling in on himself. Kanan rubs a thumb against his forearm, another point of contact. 

“I’m not going anywhere. He’s gone. I’m here.”

Ezra’s breath shutters out at the words, turning his face into Kanan’s shoulder. The warmth of him is comforting, so solid and strong. “I know. I felt it when he...when he died.” Kanan doesn’t know what to say to that so he just squeezes him tighter. The hand against his arm doesn’t stop, a comforting back and forth motion. 

“I found him. Master Kenobi, I mean,” Ezra says and feels Kanan stiffen in surprise. “He was there, on Tatooine.”

“He was?” Kanan asks in disbelief. He can hardly believe it. It was a long shot. Not even Rex had believed Master Kenobi was still alive. It leaves him with a strange feeling inside. 

Ezra nods. “Maul wanted to fight him. He was using me for that, to get there. That’s what he wanted.

“Good,” Kanan says without thinking and can feel Ezra’s surprise like a sharp  _ ping  _ in the Force. He clarifies. “It wasn’t you he was obsessed with. It was someone else.” He turns his head against Ezra’s own, breathing in the clean smell of soap and feeling comforted by having his padawan back where he belongs. 

“I was so worried that he just wanted to get you on his own, to take you away,” he admits and allows himself to feel a sense of gratitude that Maul can never threaten him or their family ever again. 

There’s a lump building in his throat, a release of emotion that he should release to the Force instead of allowing it to flood his emotions. But he’s so relieved, so weak with relief to have Ezra back safe and sound. The knowledge that Maul is gone and can no longer hunt them is a rush of emotion that he doesn’t understand. The Jedi do not celebrate death, not even the death of an enemy. Yet, he feels grateful. 

It’s not a very Jedi feeling, he knows. 

Thinking of Master Obi-Wan Kenobi is another matter entirely. A memory is persisting, a picturesque scene of a group of younglings in the Temple. In his mind's eye he can see himself still as Caleb Dume, sitting among the other younglings. 

Master Kenobi is talking to them, gesturing so that his deep robe sleeves sweep with the motion. Master Depa Billaba is standing off to the side, watching attentively. It’s an old memory, one he hasn’t thought of in a while. It tinges him with sadness, another time and place far behind him.  _ It does not do to dwell on the past.  _

“Kanan?” Ezra's voice is small, teetering on the edge of sleep. He sounds exhausted. “What was he like? Master Kenobi.”

Kanan settles against the wall, never letting his contact with Ezra break. “He was kind. Strong. Unflappable.” He struggles for the words to truly describe Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. He always seemed untouchable, larger than life. At least to young Caleb Dume. 

“He was really calm,” Ezra mutters, the words almost slurring together. “He wasn’t afraid of Maul at all.” He feels Ezra lean closer into him, practically snuggling into his side. Safe. 

“I’m glad he was there, to protect you,” Kanan says. He sends a quick prayer through the Force, a silent thank you to the man he remembers from his childhood. He hopes that wherever Master Kenobi is, he can hear it. 

“I wish you had been there,” Ezra whispers softly, so quiet that Kanan knows he wasn’t supposed to hear it. An admission not meant to even be said out loud. A vice closes around his heart at the words. Kanan swallows hard, clutches Ezra a little closer, the arm around him tightening. His sightless eyes burn, just a touch. 

_ I should have been _ , he thinks, but doesn’t voice.  _ It doesn’t help to dwell on the past.  _

“I’ll always be here,” he promises, flooding their bond with all the love and affection he can feel. Ezra’s mind is finally calm, his tired body starting to relax into sleep. His breath is dipping into a steady rhythm, heartbeat strong against Kanan’s side. He settles in beside the boy, the tug of sleep strong against his own mind. 

Ezra will need a drip tomorrow to replace his fluids, a strong meal, and a stern talking to from Hera on deliberately disobeying orders. His burns will need to be retreated so they don’t blister. They’re going to need a debriefing for all the details on Maul, on Tatooine, on Obi-Wan Kenobi. He’s probably going to be grounded. 

But right now, his kid is safe. That’s all Kanan cares about. He pulls the blanket around them both and lets his mind melt into sleep, Ezra snug against his side. 


End file.
